The Hearth's Knight
by HummingEnigma312
Summary: Second Gigantomachy claimed the lives of many a great heroes and allies; among them, the Son of Poseidon, Bane of Titans, Slayer of Giants, Percy Jackson. Although his mortal flesh and soul are gone, his immortal being lives on. To one, the Hearth, he owes allegiance and with loyalty, duty to preserve his goddess and mortal world. One spark, One hearth, One Knight
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, here we go for another round. Miss me? For my long time readers, thanks. You guys and gals are wonderful and patient and I'll try my best to not ****disappoint. For the newbies, stick around a bit. I think you'l find something you might like eventually. In this story, I'm taking new devices and it my get risque from time to time so...ratings may vary. Without further ado, enjoy! (I'll try not to pepper A/N within the story anymore)**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: How The Fire Yearns<strong>

It was the rain drops that woke Percy up. They were light and gentle like brushing kisses; just enough force to register his senses. It hurt to open his eyes and so he left his vision to the darkness. His eyes were ringing; a high pitched whine. It stung like in a tune like a rusty song grinding on a chalkboard with rusty nails and chipped glass. He grit his teeth and tried to muster out something audible. He knew he was alive. Everything hurting, that meant he was alive right?

A sound, caught between cry and cough, finally escaped his lips and fresh air entered his lungs. The air was cool and humid. Percy coughed a bit more as his chest painfully expanded to intake more living sustaining gas. It was as beautiful as it was painful. It was necessary. His respirations finally calmed and he could hear more than his own breathing.

The sounds were faint, nearly muffled, but not distant. The pain that racked body stopped him from focusing too hard. He felt every muscle in his body contract violently and sharply. He cried out in pain once again and found, through the blazing pain, the ability to curl up and roll onto his side.

The rain drops continued.

Finally, after a sharp intake of breath, the pain subsided into numbness. Hot tears crawled out from beneath his screwed tight eyes. They rolled down his nose, to his cheeks, and fell to the ground. He clenched jaw hard and his hands grasp the ground, squeezing hard. It was grass, cool and wet. His fingers dug into dirt, loose dirt; also cool and wet.

With effort, some audible, Percy opened his eyes. Construed light filtered down through a lush canopy before across the forest floor. Although the light came from a single source, the pathways it took varied and colored it into new strands of vibrant and muted hues. Though, for all the light that proliferated through the tree line, the forest was dark and deep. Then, he heard the rumble.

It was felt rather than heard. He felt it deep inside, like a perverse bass line sustaining one horrific note. It awoke something inside of Percy: primal fear. He jolted from the grass to his feet. His body felt foreign to him and his legs like wet noodles. The darkness of the forest was encroaching, the deafening bass growing stronger, growing hungrier. For once, Percy's survival instinct and sense agreed on one thing. He needed to run. And so he did.

The rain drops continued.

Percy wobbled at first, his steps uneasy and forced. Suddenly the bass rumbled stopped. Percy ran even faster, breaking into longer and longer strides. The silence consumed him like a rogue wave. The forest had turned into the barrel of a grand wave. Silence so still it pressured him on all sides as he ran, trying to force him to the ground.

The dark lanced out around him like tendrils of abyss and stretched beyond, further down the forest. The darkness enveloped every tree turning the towering pines into gnarled black teeth. This was it. This was the maw of some ungodly-or perhaps epigodly-monster.

As Percy felt his lungs were going to burst, a grand orange flame erupted ahead of him. It was autumn leaves caught in a gentle gale; scant and dying but brilliantly hued and refusing to give up. The sudden flame caused the shadows to balk, stall for a critical moment.

Just as the rumble had awoken something in his, so did the orange flame. His body found a second wind and he stretched his stride further and further until he barreled through the orange flame and into a shallow pool of water. It was clean water and helped Percy refresh himself. Half submerged; he let the water flows around him, healing minor nicks and cuts he didn't realize he acquired. It stung a bit but he finally felt like he could breathe normally.

Percy yanked himself up for the shallow pool of water, thoughts finally clearing. By instinct, he reached into his pocket for Riptide. After a moments rummaging, his gut felt hollow. In the running, he must have dropped it or something of that nature. It was only after he stopped looking for Riptide did Percy noticed he wasn't alone.

A young girl, perhaps 10 or 11, was sitting by a dying fire, gently prodding the embers with a small stick. She had long, mousy brown hair that curled just above her shoulder blades. Her eyes seemed to reflect only the fire that she watched, deep ebony with hints of orange. She sat as a little child would; one leg tucked under, resting her chin on her knee. Despite the fragility and innocence portrayed, the depth and power she exuded brought Percy to only one conclusion. He was in the presence and debt of a god. He had a firm idea as to who this one was.

Standing in a shallow dip of water, looking like utter trash, Percy offered an awkward bow.

"Lady Hestia," he tried to muster reverence, "Thank you."

"Ah," the little goddess, "Perseus Jackson." She didn't sound surprised or upset; rather warm to honest. "Would you please get some twigs for me? They should be in that brown bag, right next to you."

"Y-yes Lady Hestia," Percy stuttered in surprise.

He looked down at the rim of the water and saw the brown bag. It was a heavy leather satchel with a silver buckle but otherwise nondescript; very ordinary and mundane. He'd expected as much from the most down-to-earth goddess. Just as she asked, twigs strewn about the bag with room to spare. Percy grabbed a handful and walked them over to the little goddess.

"If you could," she smiled warmly, "Place them. The flames won't bite. I promise."

It struck Percy as odd such a goddess would seal with a promise rather than an oath but this was a trivial matter. With a care, Percy placed each and every twig on the ember pile, allowing each to cross only at the middle. When his hand escaped the area, the flames shot from the embers and consumed the twigs in a brilliant orange flame. However fiery and dangerous the fire appeared, it was gentle and warm; nearly caressing his fingertips.

"Thank you Perseus Jackson," the little goddess smiled once again, "Would you like to sit?" Her eyes seemed more alive, vibrancy in themselves.

The Son of Poseidon saw no threat and found himself endeared to the mundanely cordial behavior of one of the eldest gods. He sat to the right of her and waiting for further instructions. She gave none.

Instead, she merely tended the flames as Percy watched in gross interest. The fire cackled with glee as Keeper of the Hearth let it crawl around the stick and dance along her short arms. The orange blur raced along her outstretched limb and rushed around her torso before settling on top of her mousey brain hair and jumping back into the main flame. Percy didn't notice he was smiling until after the fact.

"Ah, lovely isn't it," she sighed, "All mortals have souls and souls depart but some things have a spirit, far from a soul but not lacking character. Archetypes I believe." She blinked suddenly, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm rambling once again. How are you faring Perseus?"

He was taken slightly aback and took a moment's pause before responding. "I-I think I'm fine. I'm a little confused; what was chasing me?"

The flames shrunk down for a moment and the little goddess took a deep breath. The various gods Percy interacted with had, despite their grandeur and might, had terrible poker faces. He could see the worry cross her face, a brief flash of uncertainty in her eyes. However, she her worry wasn't placed on what was chasing Percy; rather, he was more concerned with telling him what it had done.

"It was," she winced, "an ancient god; older than the titans. Erebos, literally the darkness that dwells, he has stirred with Gaea's awakening."

"S-So we have to stop both of them?" Percy flinched internally.

"No," the Keeper of the Hearth hesitated, erred like mortal, "Perseus, what do you last remember before arriving in this forest?"

It was now the Son of Poseidon's turn to hesitate. His brain felt fuzzy and obscured like when Hera wiped his memories. Hera, yes he was on a quest to stop Gaea. Annabeth was there, she was always with him. Leo, Piper, Jason, Hazel, Frank. Yes, they were all together again. Greece, he was in Greece; Athens to be exact.

"The acropolis of Athens," Percy finally answered in a hushed tone, "I was fighting in the Parthenon with Annabeth and my friends." His heart felt hollow and words lodged themselves in his throat. "I'm dead aren't I?"

"In a way, you are. I cannot explain how nor why but you are not completely deceased. Your soul would not have come here. Elysium would have been your destination for you success and loyalty. Gaea has been laid to rest thanks to your effort so please Perseus take heart in that."

"So, why am I here?" he asked as a heavy weight pressed his chest harder and harder. "What am I then?"

"In word, hollow. I can sense a spirit inside of you but no soul. No earthly bounds, you are your godly essence. Not a full god, but without your mortal status. I'm aware this does not explain much but this is the best explanation I can offer."

"My friends, my family, can I see them? Where am I? I need to see them." Percy jumped to his feet and looked around, fear apparent in his eyes. "Please, I'll do anything; just let me see them one more time."

He heart was palpitating; beating through his chest. His pupils dilated and his breathing increased. His mind was frantic and raced like a man on fire. The goddess watched worriedly and leveled her voice.

"Perseus," she said with some hints of authority, "Please sit down, you are far better than that. We still have matters to discuss."

Percy's body suddenly felt like lead and he gave in. He fell to the grass once more and took a steadying breath. A wave of shame washed over him. And he found sudden interest in the intricacies of the ground.

"Thank you Perseus," the little goddess sighed, "This forest, it's domain for many gods, refuge really. This area, it's not really mine but it's a nice alcove. The fact that you are here is evidence enough to me. You killed by unconventional means. Someone tried to steal your soul. They tried to consume your very essence and integrate your power with theirs. By the some twisted Fate, you did not succumb to this entity. Instead, you or this part of you is left. I can only conclude, you are as immortal as I."

Percy felt a whirlwind of emotions stir inside him and suddenly died. He felt _hollow. _The emotions he had were conjured, unnatural if there was such a thing. He looked to the flames for guidance and to his relief, he saw someone that stirred genuine emotion.

"Annabeth," he whispered, a hopeful smile played on his lips.

"Perseus," the Keeper of the Hearth said in a low voice, "Please, control yourself."

"What?"

A palpable silence lingered for a fraction. Another genuine emotion stirred: fear.

"Your friends at rest," the Fire Keeper said, "Please, control yourself."

"She's gone?" Percy fell backwards into the grass. "They're dead."

"They are at rest," she corrected. "If you wish for them to remain undisturbed, you will help me us deal with the approaching threat."

He sat up so fast, Percy nearly toppled into the fire. "What?"

"Erebos, whom I believe to be the one responsible, trying to consume anything to regain strength. You, Perseus, are possibly the most powerful demigod in existence; how escaped the knowledge of the gods is beyond me but I believe in our disarrayed state he found you and tried to consume you. As it seems, he succeeded into separating your soul and spirit but could not intake them for some reason."

"Wait, please," Percy said, "How can I help? Can I be fixed? I mean, I forget myself, I'm sorry Lady Hestia but I can't understand this all at once."

"Please, Perseus, calm yourself. You can only understand in time," the little goddess said sagely, "For now, I must ask a great deal of you. Would you please right yourself, asses your capabilities and clear your mind?"

"Yes, Lady Hestia," Percy bit his lower lip, "How ?"

"Close your eyes," she instructed, "Breathe and concentrate. Let all that you are flow like water and your passions burn like fire. See who you are as you would in sunlight and moonlight. This is how we gods determine our forms. It's how we find comfort in the vastness of all that is."

At first, Percy saw only the inky black. It was unsettling but from it grew a singularity of light, so concentrated it burst. It all flew past in him moments, fragments of all he was; Mom, Annabeth, Blue Food, Grover, Thalia, Nico, Riptide, Camp Half-Blood, Camp Jupiter, Poseidon, his cabin, Blackjack, Mrs. O'Leary. Each and every piece culminated into a sheet of reflective material, glaringly bright and potent. He didn't shield his eyes from the alarming brightness, he simply focused.

Before him, the glowing subsided and shone like a mirror in the sunlight. He found himself; cool green eyes under messy black hair, tall and well tanned. Although he was not built, muscle tone was visible and a number of minor battle scars. _There I am; that's me._

He opened his eyes and was greeted by a green flame. It leaped at him like a puppy and Percy threw himself backwards in surprise. Instinctively, he reached for Riptide and found it. He uncapped the ballpoint pen and swung by sheer reflex. The green flame clung to his blade instead and didn't let go. Regaining his sense, Percy looked to the nearby goddess for an explanation.

"You tended the flame," she said with a warm smile, "Now it serves you. It can do more but only with the right circumstance."

"Um, thank you," Percy smiled sheepishly, "Lady Hestia, what would you have me do next?"

"Perseus," she let out a short breath, "I can other no orders, merely suggestions. You are of your own will. You can return to the mortal word as you please but I do ask you consider helping us."

"For all you've done for me, it'd be my honor," Percy dipped his head, "I'd do anything to stop Erebos."

"That's what I'm afraid of," the Fire Keeper winced, "Perseus Jackson, swear loyalty to me, as you patron and I will guide you to the best of my ability. If you so ever wish to leave my service, simply ask and it shall be so. Do we have a promise?"

"Yes," Percy felt a bit awkward and dropped to a knee, "I do. Lady Hestia…I uh…swear my loyalty. T-to be the defender of your honor and…?"

Percy could have sworn he heard the most angelic sound in the world and it would not be as pleasant as the laugh of a goddess. It was like winds chimes breezed by flowery air on a spring gale while honey bees…it was nice. He looked up to see a twelve year old girl, in place of the younger one, with the same muted clothing, mousy brown hair, and brilliant brown eyes with hints of orange. THe Son of Poseidon felt his face heat up from embarrassment.

"Thank you Perseus," the little goddess giggled, "That was more than enough. I'll I asked for was a simple promise."

"I promise."

"Perseus Jackson," the goddess sighed, "For a powerful demigod, you are quite humble. That is a good quality. Ares could learn something from you."

"Yes milady," Percy chuckled, "As you say."

"Please, do not say 'milady'. I'm just your patron, Hestia, if you would."

"Of course, and it's Percy, if you would," he smiled and dipped his head.

"Honestly Percy," the little goddess chided playfully, "Who in their right mind says 'milady'? Even my priestesses never referred to me as such."

"Hunters of Artemis," Percy shrugged. He got to his feet once more and looked to his patron. "La…Hestia, is there any task you need me to do? Because I want to visit Camp…"

She was looking at him but her eyes seemed defocused, looking elsewhere in the world. It wasn't quite thousand-yard but like a

"Percy," his patron looked to flame with sudden alarm, "Erebos, he's after one of my priestesses. I need you to save her."

"Okay, a bit soon but I can do." He pulled out Riptide and swung it in his hand experimentally. "Send me in."

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><p><strong>AN: What do y'all think? I tried some newer techniques, characterization, etc. Some weren't as flawless but I think they served well. Yeah, I'm pulling a wacko12 and using primordial deities but there more on that at a later date. I've got no pairings in line as of late but patron/champion is a fixed point so no touch and go there. I will be using an OC as a support but nothing too out there. This is Percy's story to make up for Blood of Olympus. Seriously, you read that yet? So much to discuss...**

**Alright, thanks for reading, leave review; remember, think critically, write with purpose, and tell your truth. Adios...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life's as hectic as every and…we'll I'm a terrible writer in respect that I never plan things out. Seriously, I'm just making this story up at a I go, incorporating what I can and ignoring what I can't. Credit to my ghost writers and their wackiness, without y'all I'd be somewhere in South Detroit. And that was not fun the first time. Remember children, stay away from hardcore drugs and most forms of fire. **

**(Song: Hurt – performed by Johnny Cash)**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: The One That Burns <strong>

He disappeared into the three meter high flame. Hestia was alone. The dampness of the forest was barely perceived by her. It was actually quite unusual to feel anything but a weakened state of being often left gods as shadows of true power.

"Hello sister."

Hestia stirred slightly as a figure emerged from the tree line. She was tall and graceful but weary walking like a farmer after sunset. She had the air of royalty, of unquestionable prestige.

"Ah, hello to you as well," Hestia sighed. "It's been a while now, hasn't it? Please, sit."

Demeter regarded her sister with slight bemusement. "It's quite nice here."

"Yes."

"My daughter," Demeter said urgently, "I'm sorry. She's your acolyte but she is still my daughter. Aren't you going to do something?"

Hestia regarded her sister's outburst with poise. "Of course dear sister. It's all in good hands. I can assure you my champion is on the case and he's more than capable."

"Your champion?" Demeter regarded the fire with curiosity, trying to see what her sister saw. "By the Council prohibited—"

"The Council prohibited its members from having champions and said champions carry out their will. Mine has no such restrictions and it is utterly his compulsion that drives him. And at the moment, he has chosen to protect my priestess."

"Priestess of Greek," Demeter assumed, "or Roman?"

"Do you not know the heritage of your own daughter?"

Demeter squirmed, "I have many children and I do my best." That wasn't an answer Hestia liked.

"Roman but she'll be okay. My champion will assure her protection. Though, it may be a close call."

"Who, sister, who is this mystery champion?"

"Percy Jackson."

Silence hung in the forest air, only pierce by normal forest sounds. The rush of wind and the gentle patter of rain could be heard at a distance.

"He's been dead for seven years…"

Hestia's eyes flashed dangerously, "No, he's been abandoned for seven years."

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><p>Percy didn't really except to be crawling out of fire place but he did and had a feeling Santa lied about coming down chimneys. Well, that's probably not what the songs meant but his thoughts were intruded by screaming.<p>

He was in a recreation center; it was giant warehouse converted into a community center and it was nearly empty. The screaming hadn't stopped. Percy tumbled out of the fireplace and sprinted out as fast as he could. He cleared the distance from the fireplace to the hallway and sprinted past the overturned couches, wrecked tables, and broken furniture. Light was spilling in from high windows but it was faint and orange.

Percy barreled through a set of double doors. It took about two seconds to process everything. It felt like two hours. Three monsters, one girl, one very big fire. A scream escaped his lungs and Percy charged. It was only after he realized he was attacking acephali. It was reflexive, really.

Riptide was in his hand and uncapped as his arm swung in gracefully arc. It caught the first acephalus (a humanoid monster lacking a head) and created a gash from its shoulder to its hip. The it had yet to dissipate into yellow dust at its comrades were disintegrated with two, well timed slashes. He wasn't even out of breath.

Capping Riptide, he extended a hand to the girl on the floor. She was small, young but she seemed familiar. Almost like Katie…

"Who are you?" she asked defensively and drawing back.

"I'm a friend," Percy said quickly, "My patron sent me. I'm here to help."

"Lady Vesta?" she asked hopefully.

Percy considered it for a half second, "Technically, yes but that's for another moment. Are you okay?"

"Yes," the priestess brushed herself off, "Thank you very much but that wasn't the last of them. They're trying to destroy my shrine."

There was a certain flame in her brown eyes. It was something of anger and righteous fury. Percy frowned. "Can you fight?"

"I'm celibate," she growled, "Not helpless." She reached down and produced a thin dagger from her boots. It was wielded in a slight threatening manner and Percy made a mental note to not ask another stupid question.

"Fair enough, lead the way…eh, what's your name?"

"Julia," she nodded, "You?"

Before Percy could answer, an intense heat blasted them against the nearest wall. It was brilliant and painful. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at the gaping maw of leviathan. A series of serrated teeth and whip like tongue greeted him. It was sight worthy of the Underworld. There was no red hue to it. The monster's maw was a thick purple color, nearly blue with sparks of white flames dancing across its tongue.

"Well well," a crystal voice chuckled. "It's been a long time since I've seen a Greek."

He appeared out of nowhere. Percy could comprehend him through the searing pain on his right half. Who in Zeus' beard was this?

"If you pardon me," he said politely, as if ignoring the gaping maw behind him, "I believe the young lady is mine now."

Percy groaned as he pulled himself up. Riptide was nowhere in his possession, but he stood anyway. He tried his best to put Julia behind him. She was unconscious but breathing. The man opposite to him, standing at the mouth of that gods forsaken beast, seemed utterly apathetic. He was dressed richly; he wore a three piece suit the color of tar and an unremarkable, pale blue tie. His eyes were dark and glowed amber, almost godlike.

"I take it you're Erebos?" he asked.

"Hah," the man barked dryly, "Oh, goodness no. I'm just demigod, like you, but better. And this fellow is my pet. Say hello Caligula." The eldritch abomination belched out a wicked flame that caught Percy in the chest. It felt like a thousand suns burning into his body. "Come now Caligula, play nicely."

Percy was thrown against the wall once more. He swore he heard internal organs burst as his skull smashed into the dry wall.

"Hmm," the mystery demigod mused, "You're rather resilient. Lucky, possibly." His black eyes glanced at Julia. "Caligula, fetch boy."

The whip like tongue lashed out with astounding speed. It wrapped around Julia's neck one moment and dragged her closer the next. Again, Percy pushed himself to his feet, uneasily and slowly. It seemed horribly slow going. Passion built up in him but of a different kind. When using powers natural to progeny of Poseidon, he'd feel a tug in his gut. However there was no water around and the tug came from his chest.

Suddenly, his vision went green. It was like night vision but flickering instead of static like. His limbs no longer felt like lead and the pain was suddenly mitigated like he'd just taken a shot of ambrosia and three blue cookies. He sprinted across the room, diving at Caligula's tongue.

"Oh," the demigod said in muted surprise, "You're a trickery one godling, but I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

He snapped his fingers and a golden blade appeared in his hand. It was normal in most regard but the fuller was deeper and there were four notches at the base of the blade. Percy didn't even register the pain as the demigod plunged the blade in between his ribs. It took but the briefest moment, to extract the blade and only the older demigod noticed the unusual color of blood.

Caligula's tongue squirmed in between Percy's grip but retracted like a macabre lasso, ever closer to its saw toothed maw. He knew he was hurt but his only thought was fight. He tried hitting the tongue but every blow was thrown off with erratic movement. He glanced once more at Caligula's mouth and made a desperate plan.

He let go of the tongue and scrambled quickly for the monster's mouth. The older demigod blinked and watched with interest. Percy crashed into the first row of teeth. His hands wrapped around a single tooth and he yanked it as hard as he could.

"Oh that's clever," the mysterious demigod noted dryly.

It came loose and Caligula let out a startled screech. Percy hefted the surprisingly dense tooth and flung it as hard as he could into the monster's mouth. He pulled out another and stabbed it right back into the socket, sharp end first. He pulled was in the process of the third when the whip like tongue smashed into him and a flaming ball blasted him out of the maw. Now, Percy felt utterly depleted. Lying on his back, he stared up at the face of a cruel, cruel man.

"You're very stubborn," the mysterious demigod sighed, "Interesting but stubborn. I'm afraid this isn't a fight you're supposed to win. Erebos has risen. Your destruction is assured. In due time demigod, you and all your kind will beg for mercy."

"I'll stop you," Percy's chest hurt just from breathing; he was coughing too much, he felt drops of blood escape his mouth.

"If only, if only." Amber eyes tried to murder Percy on the spot. "If we meet again demigod, I am the one called Azazel. I am the Harbinger of your destruction." He grinned and tilted his head, " 'Goodnight Sweet Prince' ." He brought down the heel of a rather nice looking Oxford onto Percy's face.

Azazel sighed as Percy passed into unconsciousness; he had a job to do, nothing more and nothing less. Julia still lay crumpled on the rubbled floor. "Caligula, play dead." It a sound that can only be described as hundred camels dying, the eldritch abomination disappeared in a singularity of darkness. In its wake, the air around Azazel super heated and then chilled. The cool night air pressed in through the torn open wall. Moonlight was blocked by overcast. Dianna would not bear witness to the next few minutes.

"Ah, poor mortals," Azazel shrugged, "When will you learn, there are no virgins. Life seems to find a way to fuck us all." He snapped his fingers, "If not, I certainly will."

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><p><em>Wake up Percy! Please! Please wake up!<em>

Percy awoke without opening his eyes. He rolled to his side and a mixture of blood and bolus exploded from his mouth. It was painful and fiery but it felt good. His throat felt like fire but it was amazing. He was alive, if only just barely.

Groaning, Percy dragged himself to the double doors and propped himself. Pain blurred his vision or maybe it was the blood loss. No, this was too much blood. It couldn't be his…

Julia was arranged neatly on the floor. Her limbs were spread equal distance apart, spread eagle. There were long, careful cuts across her body. Radial, carotid, brachial…femoral…all of her major arteries were slit with surgeon like precision. She was pale. She was corpse. Her eyes were wide open and a look of utter horror frozen on her face. She died screaming and Percy didn't even hear. Her clothing was ripped and cut, stained with blood at every inch. Percy dared not exam too much. He didn't have anything else to throw up. She was eviscerated…butchered like an animal. Defiled…deflowered. From her chest, Julia's dagger protruded like a macabre needle in her heart.

He couldn't find the disgust or rage. He couldn't summon the energy to cry or weep or panic. He could only sit there numbed to it all, drinking in every detail.

_I failed._

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><p>"Oh no," Hestia watched in horror from her forest abode. She underestimated the elder god and it cost her dearly. The flames dimmed and the darkness crept ever closer. "No, no, no."<p>

A true goddess would not allow herself such an outburst but those were guideline for refined immortals. Whatever bond between god and follower was special. Each follower and acolyte was a part of something greater than mortal existence and in turn the immortal was given a glimpse of humanity, of precious, fleeting humanity. When it is wretched away with such ferocity, it is nearly impossible for a god to not bear the same pain as their follower.

She gripped her cloak tightly. It would not end like this; he would pay and his monsters too. But could Percy do this alone? Did the Ancient Laws allow such intervention? Other immortal could be damned. She needed her champion more than ever, by any means.

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><p><strong>AN: And so the story continues with great delay. My apologies. Well that's another chapter down and I do hope you enjoyed it. If so, speak up. If not, why? Never be afraid to criticize but always try to be constructive in doing so. Personally, I like where the story is going. But I'm always open to suggestions. Until next time. Caio **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Every writer needs momentum. Momentum is m(mass) times v (velocity) and expressed in kilograms per meters per second. Also known as B (Bumps). What I mean to say is that some stories are planned out to the broad points, sharpened when necessary and some stories are like spears; there's one point and it's best to stick it in hard and fast. Mass and velocity…**

**(Piece: Requiem in D minor – Wolfgang Mozart or Song: Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley)**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: Aria of Despair <strong>

Percy could count the numbers of times he faded in and out of consciousness on one hand: four. He really thought he would be dead by the fourth time but someone or something held him together. The memories were stitched together like a bad slideshow. Julia butchered on the floor of the recreation center. Next, there was glaring of moonlight through the empty air where a wall, where Caligula, once stood burst into view. Then, he was staring at the recreation center engulfed in a golden inferno like an impromptu pyre. The last thing he remembered was staring up into the night sky. The moonlight weaved the darkness in between stars like a rushed blanket.

So it was easy to understand his confusion when Percy awoke to find himself sitting up in a bed. His mouth was dry like cotton and his muscles screamed in pain. When he blinked, a jolt of pain ran across his face. He tried to cry out but it seemed to be lodged in his throat and came out as a meager gasp.

_Stop. Don't push yourself _

"Hello?" he whispered as he glanced nervously around his room.

It was small, barely enough to fit his bed, a movable table, a small desk with a mini fridge and some lighting fixtures. The walls were sky blue and the ceiling recessed into three increasing smaller squares. The lights were off and midday run cast a warm glow; the walls looked almost orange in the light.

_Hold on, please. It will be okay._

Confused but somehow at ease, Percy resigned himself the relative comfort of the bed. He closed his eyes and the events previous took grip into his mind. His heart was racing once more and he suddenly felt better keeping them open. Julia, however, could not have such luxury.

Suddenly, a tall young man appeared in the doorway. He out of breath and dressed sloppily: sweatpants, t-shirt, a sweatshirt and an ankh necklace. His had dim, grey eyes, more akin to iron than steel. He looked as if he just finished a run.

"Hello my friend," he said, "It is good to see you in the realm of the living."

Percy bit his tongue. _Trust him_

"I see you do not trust me," the young man apologized, "A thousand apologize. I am Symon al-Habib. My friends call me Symon and my fiancé calls me to dinner." He smiled at his own joke.

There was a slight hesitation but Percy replied, "It's okay. I'm Percy Jackson. My friends…they called me Percy."

"I know your plight Percy Jackson," Symon nodded sagely, he touched his ankh absentmindedly, "You have been through much friend, and yet you're still alive. Cui bono? Eh?" He smiled kindly and walked to Percy's bedside. "Your injuries are otherwise healed; severe laceration, four fractured costal bones, once punctured lung, hydrocephaly, and a slight case of ochidiomeagly."

"I'm sorry?"

"Percy Jackson," Symon said seriously, "You're lucky to be alive. In terms that won't offend you; you got the…how do you say..clout knocked out of you? No, that's not right. You, were hanging by the edge of your string? No. Ah, you were at Death's Door. It is most good your patron intervened."

"My patron? She brought me here?"

"Hahaha," Symon laughter was booming, "You sorry soul, she dragged up to my office. Luckily I deal with demigods like you on a daily basis. Well, not with the severity of your case. However that breaks HIPAA so I cannot divulge too much. You understand."

"Was there anyone else with me? A girl?" Percy asked urgently.

"No, I'm afraid not," Symon answered slowly, "In actuality, it came to me surprising that your patron would accept you. Given your condition. And drag you this far."

"Hestia? Why is that surprising?"

"Hestia? No my friend, it was Artemis that brought you to my doorstep; she said 'Provide this one with urgent care. He is under my protection now' and she disappeared in the wind." Symon recounted dutifully. "I tell you, you North Mediterranean are interesting people, my gods tend to stay their hands of mortal lives. Even my Judean patients don't get so much preferential treatment. However, I do believe the Christian has been assisted. That is but concern. Percy Jackson, how are you feeling?"

"Artemis?" Percy was still processing it all. "My friend, I mean, Symon, where am I?" He tried to sit up further and bellowed in pain as Symon pushed in back. The ambiguously ethnic man looked at him, his eyes flashed dangerously.

"My patient's safety is my first concern. There is no god in my office but me and on occasion Death itself. You may asked questions but only after I saw you are fit enough." He let out a slow breath and smiled sadly, "I'm very sorry my friend. I did not mean to lose my temper but your well being is my only duty. I swore by the healer gods and by my mother to protect and nurse. I do not break my vows."

"I'm sorry," Percy felt suddenly abashed. There was lingering anger but he squashed it quickly. The man was only showing concern. "A thousand apologies, Symon al-Habib."

The man smiled, "No worries Percy Jackson. I understand you better now." He walked over to a mini fridge next to the desk and pulled out a bottle of water. "Please, drink and rest, I shall come by with food in a bit of time."

"Thank you," Percy said gratefully gulping the water. Symon was watching him carefully.

"Son of Neptune or Poseidon?" he asked.

"That obvious?" Percy tried to smile. "Son of Poseidon."

"That is most good son of Poseidon." Symon nodded. "I have a feeling we may get along."

"Et tu?" Percy asked. "Son of Sobek?"

"Hahahaha," Symon boomed, "You are a funny Greek. Mio phimos or is it philos? A thousand apologies, no. My mother is a water deity as well. I am a son of Neith."

"Ah, that's very, very interesting. Now I see why Artemis came here." In a way it did make sense but Percy still had questions to ask. "But please, Symon. Where am I?"

"It is all well Percy Jackson, you are safe; much assured here in Jericho, Colorado. There are many like us and many like us in fractions."

* * *

><p>Hestia paced a tight circle around her fire. She was worried. She was sick. She was worried sick. Long curls of mousy brown hair bounced with frenzy. She couldn't waste the energy controlling her appearance and felt it at ease being so in the dark.<p>

In a flash of silver, of moonlight, Artemis appeared by the fireside. Her auburn hair was loose from the usual pony tail and much like Hestia, she disheveled and worried. Her eyes were no longer vibrantly silver but a mere glow of grey. It was almost as if the power had faded within to a degree, leaving her almost mortal like.

"My dear," Hestia rushed to her side, "Are you well? How is my champion? What of the Erebos?"

"Ah, Hestia," Artemis looked drained, "I'm fine." Her naturally pale skin looked marble. She wasn't fine. "The boy is healed. I did for him what I could before sending him somewhere safe. He is in good hands, Egyptian but good none the less. I can trust a son of Neith. However, Erebos' minions were nowhere in sight when I arrived. Only that boy—"

"Percy," Hestia interjected fiercely, "He is my champion and I shall vouch for him, so please refer to him with respect."

Artemis winced at the elder goddesses' severity. "Y-yes. Percy was sitting against some doors, sword out of his grasp. Julia, the Vestal Virgin, was butchered. She was deflowered and desecrated by the cretin." Rage built up in the Goddess of the Hunt like a taut bowstring ready to fire off. "That demigod isn't normal…"

"Neither is Percy but we cannot intervene too greatly; I apologize for asking such a task Olympian." Hestia bowed her head and deferred respect.

Artemis flinched like she'd been hit. "Never, it is for the greater good and I will put aside my prejudice to help. This is not a trifling matter." She paused. "My Hunters have been getting picked off in my absence. When I am off to Council meeting or such Erebos' agents infiltrate my camp and they take one Hunter at a time. Fear has infected my Hunters. It has infected me."

Artemis was staring into the fire; she looked on the verge of breaking. There was no masquerade at this point. There was no use wasting energy.

"Your Hunters may seek safety in my lands," Hestia offered quickly. She put an arm around the younger goddess, "It may give them the edge to fight or flee."

"That is most kind," Artemis was choked with a whirlwind of emotions. "I'm sorry about your priestess. She was a fine girl and virtuous one at that."

"I know," Hestia sighed, "She's the first I've lost in a long time and I fear she will not be the last."

There was silence once again in the forest. It was blanket that muted any sound that tried to form. It was almost impossible to pierce and only increased in severity. Hestia draped her arm around the Goddess of the Hunt. In a sense, their kinship was founded upon the fleeting lives of mortals. There was something poetic about it but it felt more like a heavy epitaph.

Warily, the Goddess of the Hunt looked up. Objectively, the moment could be described as two young sisters in a forest clearing sharing weakness in the glow of a dull flame. Subjectively, there it was the tortured existence of two immortal beings; both of whom bound by the intricacies of the Fate to the vicious cycle of death and destruction that seemed to fall all gods. The dead were at peace but were the living still living after the death of a close companion, whether be a fellow sister or a devotee?

"I'm so sorry," Artemis shook her head. Goddesses did not cry. It was merely a trick of the moonlight, of droplets caught in the wrong light falling from the stars…perhaps.

"It was not in your hands," Hestia cooed, "Please be at peace child." She hugged the younger goddess tenderly.

"Have I condemned my closest? Have I done them wrong?"

"Peace, peace little moon," Hestia cooed again, "It will be well."

"How?! How will it?!" Her voice slipped into a desperate rage. It was a very mortal emotion: fear.

The Goddess of the Hearth blinked in mute shock. Of course, to grant one's followers so much power and trust. The bond between immortal and mortal was as two way as the trade winds: fleeting but strong and invisible.

"Hush, hush child," Hestia urged softly, "We must have faith in those who have faith in us. They will prevail as it is theirs; ours is to see them fit and aided."

Suddenly, the Goddess of the Hunt sounded awfully like the little girl Hestia helped rear. "Promise?"

She gave the younger goddess a gentle, reassuring squeeze, "I promise."

It was quite some time before Hestia realized twilight had descended upon the blanketed clearing. Time was ambiguous to them but to her champion—to those still fighting—it made all the difference. She was painfully aware of the goddess in her arms. No, she was acutely aware of the little girl in her arms. The young, and the Goddess of the Hunt was young, were forced into their stead of those with far more power and experience and expected to cope. Celibacy proved one vital point: one learned to deal with their problems instead of passing it onto another.

So here the younger goddess sat, in the arms of the Zeus' sister, crying very mortal tears. The musing didn't escape in silence as the Goddess of the Hearth continued to speak gently like the warmth of a fire during the winter squall. At their core, what was a god but a set of ideals held together by emotions and imperfect power? Then what was a mortal, the same but fleeting in years? It took a moment for Hestia to realize something important, something so grand it was obscene to immortal convention.

As a pup lay with its mother in time of duress, pressed against her flank for support and tender warmth, Artemis lay against Hestia without restraint of godly convention. It was love by another name not easily governed by Eros or Aphrodite.

Hestia considered waking the younger goddess and hesitated. Immortality had its limits, energy could be expended like honey in a beehive, though abundant and easily made, it could just as easily be drained. She would allow it; she wanted to allow it. The veneer had been stripped and it would be a grave mistake to redress.

She willed the flames to dim ever so carefully. With a free hand, she ran a hand through Artemis' hair and gently untangled strands and straightened out kinks. She stirred quietly before settling down. Hestia felt a smile tug at her lips. The Hearth was home to all; gentle and caring but fiercely defensive. That is why she saved the Son of Poseidon; that is why she was now weakened, corrupted by mortality and banished to recuperate in the space between earth and sky.

* * *

><p><em>Percy. We need you. Please come back.<em>

"Symon," Percy said urgently, "I need to go."

The Son of Neith regarded his patient with unguarded ire. "Bed rest, that's an order."

"I'm a demigod," Percy said indignantly, "Just get me some ambrosia and I'll be up in a minute."

"I have considered this," Symon said under his breath, "but I do not believe it would be right to send you out so soon."

"My patron calls, please. I'll do whatever I can for you but right now. I need to get out and fix my mistake. I need to fight! I can't sit in bed and wait."

"Percy Jackson, I understand your need to leave and I'm sorry I can't speed your recovery but you've presented me with an impossible case."

Symon did not mention Percy's blood work. He did not mention the speed of Percy's recovery was due in part to something, something not mortal. Champions of god gained extraordinary powers but this was unlike anything ever recorded. And the rumors circulating were all in unanimous agreement. He should have suspected something when a goddess left Percy at his door.

"What are you talking about?"

"My friend, what year is it?"

"2014," Percy responded automatically.

"My friend," Symon blinked, "You are wrong by seven years."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So yeah, that's chapter three. The obvious is clearly state but with significance. It'll play a role in changing the landscape of the world as Percy knew and etc. The explosion of various religions creates a new diversity beyond Greek, Roman, and Egyptian. I assure y'all, I'll be as accurate as inherently possible but…artistic license. **

**So where do you think this is going?**

**How is Percy going to fight Erebos?**

**What is Erebos?**

**Why is there so much introspection…**

**Well, Socrates answered the last one. "An unexamined like is not one worth living."**


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